Johnlock p1
by jordan.adams.54
Summary: John realizes Sherlock has feelings for him, and he seems to have feelings for Sherlock as well


John was restless. His nightmares had been few, but hadn't gone away completely. He let out an irritated sigh as he threw the blanket to the floor and pulled his legs to his chest. It would be another long night.

The bedroom door creaked open. Sherlock stood in the doorway, shrouded in the darkness of the night, barely visible.

"It's four in the morning," Sherlock said in annoyed monotone.

"Yes, I'm fully aware."

"You've woke me."

John squinted in the dark, trying to locate Sherlock's face.

"What?"

"I can hear your sighing."

"That's a bit unlikely."

Sherlock flicked the light on, making his way over to John's bed and taking a seat at the edge. He was in his usual robe, hair disheveled. Now that the lights were on, John noticed a curious look on Sherlock's face. He looked almost…nervous. Sherlock was never nervous, and if he was, it never showed. Not until tonight.

"What's going on?" John inquired.

Sherlock turned away, running a hand through his dark curls, rubbing his palms together.

"Well, what is it?"

"I've been doing some serious thinking, John. These past few months."

"So nothing new."

Sherlock pushed himself back onto the bed, focusing his eyes once again on John. It was a hard decision, but he couldn't keep these feeling to himself any longer. It would drive him mad.

"John. You've recently broken up with your girlfriend, correct?"

"Yes," John groaned, "Thanks for that, by the way."

"Yes. Well, I had an…an experiment in mind. I wondered if you'd assist me."

"A case?"

"Yes and no," he said coolly.

John was becoming annoyed. It wasn't like Sherlock to act this way. Cautious.

"What is it then?"

Sherlock stood up, letting his robe drop to the ground. He stared around the room for a moment, stared at John, observing. He ran his long fingers over the soft fabric of his pyjamas, fingering the buttons. He wasn't quite ready. He _was_ nervous. If only John would understand, would make a move.

_Christ,_ _why do I always have to do all the work? Why can't I be the simpleton, just for once._

"Sherlock?" John mumbled.

"Yes. Yes, um. Just give me a moment, John. I need to think."

John watched the clock_. 4:12._ He'd need to be up in just a few hours. Groaning with exhaustion and irritation, he leaned back on his bed, closing his eyes. Suddenly the bed creaked with pressure and Sherlock had pulled himself on top of John. He held his wrists down and stared into his eyes.

"Sherlock! Christ, what are you doing? Get off!"

Sherlock said nothing. He simply shut his eyes and lowered his head, pressing his lips to Johns. It was a very short kiss, as John had pulled away and now lay staring up at Sherlock, utterly confused and angry.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" His expression had softened though; he had quit struggling under Sherlock's weight. Neither of them spoke and the only sound in their quiet flat was soft breathing.

"An experiment, John," Sherlock whispered. He went in for another kiss, feeling Johns thin lips return the pressure.

John was going through a million emotions at once, heart pounding. What the hell was he doing? Surely he wasn't gay. But here he was with another man on top of him, kissing, pulling at the soft skin of Sherlock's lips, gasping when he felt Sherlock's hand reach up his shirt. John pulled away from the kiss to allow his shirt to be pulled off. He allowed himself a glance at Sherlock's face and saw the detective peering down at him, like he was studying an interesting specimen under his microscope. There were so many things he wanted to say at that moment but he couldn't form the words.

Sherlock's hands fumbled around Johns trousers until finally, silently, John took his hands in his own and felt them shaking.

"Relax, Sherlock. I've got it." His voice was quiet and broken as he slipped them off and was left in nothing but his briefs. John wouldn't let himself think about any of this. If he did, his brain would think of a million reasons why this whole thing was unacceptable. Instead, he listened to his body. The growing bulge in his underpants, the way his whole body jumped when Sherlock touched him.

_Jesus, this is unreal._

Sherlock's mouth moved down John's body, leaving a trail of kisses and playfully nipping at the tight skin around his nipples. He moaned quietly and reached his hands into Sherlock's thick hair. He couldn't ever remember feeling this aroused, overwhelmed with desire. Soon Sherlock was pulling at the waistband of Johns briefs, digging his fingers into the soft skin. He'd taken his own pyjamas off as well and was now totally naked.

"Sherlock," John gasped.

"Mmm," he growled softly, sliding Johns underpants down his thighs and dropping them on the mess of blankets and sheets.

"Sherlock-"

"Stop talking."

_Same old Sherlock, even during intimacy._

John let his head fall back onto the soft pillow. His eyes fluttered shut. Then there was the warmth of heavy breathing, and all at once he was in Sherlock's mouth. He let himself think of nothing but the pleasure he was feeling right then. In fact, he wasn't thinking of anything at all. Baker Street was quiet; a few street lights shown through the window.

Sherlock let his hands explore Johns body while working his tongue. He'd never been the sexual type, he'd never even had a girlfriend. Or boyfriend, for that matter. But upon getting to know John, something stirred in him, not just lust, but serious desire. Love. Sherlock was certain that this new thing he was feeling for John, was love. At first, it was terrible. It got in the way of his genius. His usually intellectual mind was clouded with thoughts of being with John in every way possible. Certain nights, he had snuck into Johns room simply to watch him sleep. To observe him. The sounds he made during nightmares. The gentle breathing. The rise and fall of his chest. It was the closest to intimacy he could get. Until now.

Johns back arched upwards and he let out a long groan as Sherlock swallowed around him. It'd been a very long time since John had been with anybody, which left him wondering if Sherlock had _ever _been with someone. It didn't seem likely.

John ran a hand through his hair and sighed.

"Sherlock. Jesus Christ…I…" He trailed off, not sure what to say. What to do. Sherlock wiped his mouth and pulled himself on top of John, resting his face in Johns neck.

"It's safe to assume the experiment was successful, then?" Sherlock whispered, sounding oddly delighted.

John chuckled and rested his hand on Sherlock spine, rubbing soft circles around his back and eliciting a relaxed sigh from Sherlock. John had a million questions, but he shut them down. Questions could wait until morning. Now, with Sherlock curled on top of him, all he could do was fall into blissful sleep.


End file.
